


As If This is Forever

by DoctorSyntax



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Drinking, Established Relationship, F/M, Menstrual Sex, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 12:51:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorSyntax/pseuds/DoctorSyntax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S8 girl!Dean AU in which, post-purgatory, Dean and Benny live together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As If This is Forever

The careful shift of weight on a mattress never used to be enough to wake Benny up, but it is now. Ever since getting back from purgatory, he sleeps easily but lightly; Dean told him it's a common enough experience among soldiers after returning from war. It's Dean waking him up now by trying not to, carefully easing back the blanket and sliding toward the edge of the bed without making a sound.

He doesn't even stop to think about it, just lets his hand reach out and circle around her wrist. She freezes for a split second, and beneath his fingertips Benny can feel her blood speed up circulation, fight or flight instinct warring within her until she blows out a slow breath on a conscious decision to relax. Her blood slows in time with her breathing, until it's back to normal.

"What's up, sister?" he mumbles quietly, fully awake but too tired to raise his voice. They're alive. They're safe. If he needed to he could jump out of bed and fight, but he doesn't _have_ to, and it makes all the difference.

"Nothing," Dean whispers back, conscious of the early hour. It's barely dawn, soft light filtering in through the blinds they haven't hung curtains over yet, throwing lines over her naked body. It isn't bright enough to hurt his eyes yet, so he can fully appreciate the beauty of her illuminated skin. She shakes her wrist a little in his grip, but doesn't yank it away like she normally would. "Let me up, gotta pee." The cadence of her voice is off—too soft, almost placatory, with an undercurrent of the nerves she was always too obvious about hiding.

She's lying. And the knowledge that she's got no good reason to be doing it has him growling low and tugging her back toward him. For some reason a familiar scent fills his nostrils: a mix of copper, warmth, and life. It strikes him dumb for a moment, until he sees Dean try to unobtrusively cross her legs beneath the bedclothes, and everything falls into place.

Another low noise escapes as he lets go of her wrist, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her flush against her body. She squirms a little against him but doesn't make a real effort to get free—she's trying not to provoke him, he realizes, probably afraid of the instincts she might arouse.

Well, if she's going to treat him like a wild animal, he might as well justify her fears. Roughly he slips a hand between her legs, forcing them apart enough to get two fingers between her labia, to the slick wetness there. Sure enough, when he pulls his hand free, the blood-scent in the room intensifies. 

"This what you were tryin' to hide, huh?" he asks.

"I forgot," she whispers back, voice stricken with mortification. He can barely hear it over her racing heartbeat. Damn girl's driving him wild and there's not a thing he can do for it. "In purgatory I never got it, and before that I suppressed it with birth control. I just—forgot."

"So what were you plannin' on doin'?" he asks, because it's not as if she can exactly stop it, now that it's started. He remembers that much from his time as and with humans.

"Leaving," she admits, like it costs her something to say it. The words hang between them for a beat of silence. He almost doesn't want to ask.

"Were you gon' come back at all?"

As it turns out, her silence is all the answer he needs.

While they were in purgatory, he'd wanted better for her. Truth be told, he'd wanted better for both of them, but hadn't had all that many illusions about what would happen to him if they got out of there. Dean, though, she was still human. She'd been thrust into a hell of a situation but her hardness was a reaction to that. Purgatory was breaking her but once they got topside, she'd be okay. 

It's why he'd insisted that once they got to the surface they'd part ways. Dean had been quick to agree when their alliance was new and uncertain, but by the time they'd gotten to the portal, he knew she'd been thinking about renegotiating. He never gave her the chance. She was going to find her sister and they were going to ride off into the sunset, fighting demons or werewolves or—hell, he didn't know. But she'd be better off if he never saw her again, and he was okay with that. Wasn't hardly a week after they got back, he'd been chasing down his maker's nest and she'd called, asking how fast he could get to her.

Lesson learned: he never did know how to refuse her anything.

Despite his attempts to dissuade her, she'd been eager to help with his revenge, and he let her because he found pretty quickly it was the only thing she was willing to speak about. He didn't ask, didn't want to hear what she'd found, because if she was here with him instead of somewhere else with Sam, something bad must have happened.

After she'd killed Andrea, she opened up enough to let him know the rest of the story, surprising him with the fact that Sam was alive. More than that, she was out of the life, safe, happily living with some animal doctor in Texas. "They had a dog," Dean'd told him, like it explained everything. But she was white-knuckling the steering wheel. "When Sam came back from hell, I didn't know how to choose between my lives. Lisa and Ben—I'm not making her go through that. She thinks I'm dead and gone, and she's not ever gonna know any different."

So Dean pretends she's okay with it, okay without Sam and without hunting— _because the world is safe, you know? And the apocalypse made a whole new generation of hunters to take care of the small stuff_ —and Benny pretends to believe her. They've settled down in his old hometown in Louisiana, carving out something like a life together. He has a crap job at Guidry's Gumbo Shack, she has a crap job at Carencro Auto Repair, and they're renting a run-down little house on the outskirts. 

It can't last. It won't last. But he never expected it to end quite this soon.

"Easy, sugar," he soothes as she attempts to free herself again, and the low promise in his voice must do something to placate her, because she stills. "I ain't gon' hurt you." Her legs fall open—that's his girl, she's got the idea now—and the scent of her seems to fill the room, not just her blood but her slick too, the heavy tang of arousal. Even if it hadn't been his plan from the outset he would have been unable to stop himself from shifting the covers off them both and moving down to the end of the bed.

Her legs aren't smooth and her pussy isn't shaven, but he never really expected them to be. Heaven knows she preemptively told him more than once in purgatory that she wasn't going to waste time shaving her legs with a goddamn knife and if he didn't like it he didn't have to fuck her. She forgot he came from a time when girls didn't bother with that kind of stuff. That it's familiar to him, even sexy in its own way. And this? Well, can't say he's ever done precisely this before, but it's nothing he hasn't thought about.

As he settles in between her legs he glances up at her, giving her one last out. Fuck, she smells so inviting; it's not going to be easy to walk away from this, but it won't kill him. She holds his gaze for an interminable moment before giving him the go-ahead with a small nod. His heart slams in his chest, half with anticipation and half under the thrill of the implicit trust she has in him.

If that's what it is. She's a funny one, Dean. Seems like the only real trust she holds in people is in their ability to let her down. Some days he wonders if she's waiting for him to slip, so she can kill him. He's heard enough about Samantha to know her powers tore Dean apart with their shades of gray. Dean's never says she misses Purgatory, and Benny's not stupid enough to think she'd rather be back there, but he knows she liked the black-and-white of it. She's a hunter, but he's her lover and her friend, and that makes him a gray area.

He thought getting out of Purgatory would make her whole again, fix what went wrong inside of her, but he knows now she's just as broken as she was then. Finally understands that she was like that before, too. Ain't nothing he can do about it, though. She's his girl whether she knows it or not, whether she's light and carefree or not.

She doesn't jerk away when he leans in and mouths at her inner thigh, but she doesn't squirm the way she usually does, either. Slowly he works his way toward her center, holding back a little because she is, too. She's a little more responsive by the time his mouth closes over her clit, but doesn't arch into it the way she usually does. It only makes him perversely more determined to elicit those reactions out of her. The heavy taste of her blood, mixed with but not thinned down by girlslick, hits his tongue as he parts her labia with the tip of his thumb and licks his way down to her entrance. She's wet and ready. He couldn't say for the life of him why, but it's the first flick of his tongue inside her that seems to bring her back to herself.

Her pussy is well-known territory to him, no surprises here, and she's never been shy about letting him know what she likes, so inside of a minute flat he's hearing those sweet little noises she likes to pretend she doesn't make and she's arching her hips up into his mouth. She's always tasted good but never like this before, like manna from heaven and the best parts of hell all rolled into one sexy little package. He actually growls a bit when she pushes his face away from her, feeling the loss on a deeper level than physical.

"On your back," she orders, breathless and already a little sweaty. When he doesn't comply right away, she uses her strength against him—nothing he couldn't easily counteract, but go ahead, maybe he likes it—and he finds himself flat on his back in no time. "Gonna ride your face," she tells him, more promise than warning.

Her blood flows sluggishly, thicker and tackier than his usual fare. A slightly different taste, too, but all the more exciting for it. Donated blood is good, more than adequate for what he needs, but there's a certain thrill to drinking from a human he'd thought he'd never get to experience again. She's really into it, too, making all these desperate, sexy little noises she always tried to hold back in purgatory—the quieter and better hidden they were, the more likely they would get to finish—and Benny curls his hands around her thighs and pulls her closer to him. He's hard enough to cut glass at this point, but all he can think about is _more_ : more of Dean, more of her pussy, more of her blood.

She probably started bleeding a couple hours after she fell asleep, judging by the way her flow slows quickly. What's there is soon gone, as much of it ending up on his face as on his tongue. It's not enough. She grinds down and he curls his tongue inside of her, like he can coax more out of her if only he can reach it. Give her twelve hours and she'll be at the heaviest part of her cycle but it's out of reach for now and it's driving him crazy with want. There's no way what she's got right now is going to sate the bloodlust they got started, and for the first time Benny begins to wonder if maybe they both got a little ahead of themselves, here.

Even though she's dripping wet and smearing fluid into his skin and facial hair with every movement of her hips, it's not right. It's not what he wants. He can feel and hear her blood thrumming through the veins in her thighs, and all he would have to do to reach a major artery is turn his head a little—Christ, even thinking about it gets little red spots swimming at the corner of his vision. He can feel his other teeth itching to break free of his gums, feels himself start to lose control, and all he can think is _no_. Anyone, literally _anyone_ , but her.

Wild panic has him pushing at Dean, trying to get her off and away from him before he's too far gone to know any better. His attempted verbal warning is muffled, but she's a clever girl. Maybe she wasn't a vampire for very long, but she understands the craving, that feeling as it takes over you, and she gets it. He's expecting her to climb off and get the hell out of Dodge, but she surprises him: yeah, she moves off his face double-quick, but instead of fleeing she just slides a little further down his body, palms braced on his chest, and sinks down onto his cock in a smooth, tight glide. It's the respite he needs and he can feel his teeth retracting and the hunger retreating with them.

His heartbeat doesn't slow, though, the adrenaline from their near-miss flooding him with a different kind of thrill. Too focused on her blood, he hadn't done a very good job of getting her off while she was sitting on his face, but he sets about correcting that now with renewed vigor. She's never been wetter for him and as she grinds down on him he knows her bleeding's starting up again. To avoid slipping out, he forces as deep as he can with his hands on her hips and stays there, fucking into her with short, rough strokes. She lets him, eyes closed and mouth curved slightly open on a blessed-out expression. The intimacy of it takes him by surprise; he's never felt closer to Dean or anyone than in this exact moment. Soon enough she's dropping lower and lower toward his chest, knees turning outward, all signs that she's close. Not slowing or changing his pace, he lets go of one of her hips and grabs the back of her head, pulling her in for a kiss, letting her taste herself and her blood on his mouth.

A slight whimper and the dig of her palms into his chest later, she's shaking apart around him and he's been pulled bowstring-tight for so long it's all he needs to let sensation take him over, fucking her shallow-rough and stopping, coming as far inside her as he reckons anyone's ever been, multiplying the mess between her legs.

He's always been the kind of guy that enjoyed closeness after sex; the heavy weight of his girl slumped against his chest, additional moments of being together even if nothing more is said, just silent enjoyment of someone else's company. Purgatory made that kind of thing impossible—once they were done, they got going because they'd been in one place for far, _far_ too long—but after getting topside he found Dean was generally okay with that kind of thing, or okay with humoring him, at least.

So he's surprised when she kisses him on the cheek and pulls off almost without delay. Within seconds of her leaving the room he starts to wonder if she's ever coming back, or if she's still intent on leaving. He's about to get up and investigate when she comes back with a soft plastic sachet of blood from the supply they keep in a beat-up old cooler in the equally beat-up old fridge. It lands on his chest with a thud, but all he feels is overwhelming relief. Dean's still there. More than that, she's standing in the doorway naked as the day she was born, pulling her hair back in ponytail with a smile. There's blood and come smeared all over the inside of her thighs, but he knows he's in a much worse state.

"I'm gonna go get cleaned up, babe. Enjoy the rest of your breakfast." She pushes off the doorframe with a wink, and he watches her perfect little body saunter away in the direction of their bathroom.

Perfect and whole is overrated. He'll take her just the way she is.


End file.
